


on legends

by alsahm



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dungeons & Dragons, Gen, Non-binary character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 03:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsahm/pseuds/alsahm
Summary: Owain hears word of the legendary Grandmaster and traces some family history.





	on legends

**Author's Note:**

> “Raen” being what Morgan and Lucina call their parent.

"It must be hard being allergic to yourself," Owain notes, nudging his companion supportively. So far Gerome's attempts to intimidate the storefront of Akaneia Games have been unfruitful; the posters on the windows have neither melted nor their illustrated dragons flown away, the anime girl on the doorway has not disappeared to ease their shame, the neon OPEN sign has not blinked off. Gerome is chronically self-unaware, to be sure, but even he should figure that with his autumn sunglasses and the dark trench coat and the shoe box tucked protectively under one arm, he sticks out _more_ glaring at the shop than he will once they venture in.

There's a Cipher tournament today. A group of five players has even noticed them from the window, and among them Yarne beckons for Owain in painful desperation.

"They summon me," Owain announces with limited gusto. "So. Do you want your two dollars already or nah?"

Gerome swallows, his stomach deflating with a sigh. He decides, apparently, that the two dollars will be worth the trauma of this journey, or else that ridding himself of his out-of-date Ciper collection is akin to buying dignity, because he finally marches forward.

The bell rings to announce their presence, and serenity drapes Owain in the comforting cape of his people: there's Nah with a book and a latte from Ricken's neighboring café, sat at the table under the far wall's mural; Owain's cousin Morgan is not too far from her, head tipped heavily over a module for what looks like their upcoming campaign. Yarne was kidnapped here by Laurent, it appears, and still clamors for Owain's attention from the tournament room. Alas, he is to be ignored for the sake of Owain's active sidequest.

"Here," says Owain, and beckons for Gerome to follow him to the glass counter, where Anna stands bouncing a coin between her knuckles. She winks when Owain holds a hand up in greeting, and after one final toss pockets her treasure with monstrous dexterity. 

"Loitering," says she, shaking her head, "outside _my_ shop, Owain!"

Owain keeps it quick for Gerome's benefit. "Yeah, hey, sorry. My buddy found his stash of Cipher singles from elementary school and has no use for 'em, so I told him you buy in bulk. It's his first time here." He gestures for Gerome to reveal the bounty; grunting, Gerome sets the shoe box on the counter, and Owain carefully removes the lid, the underside of which has been thoroughly decorated in crayon. "Some of the cards in here are actually pretty nice, we went through earlier and separated them. So you can take a look at those. I already told him it'll be like five dollars max, so no worries."

Anna tugs the box closer, already picking through different rarities, none of which are sleeved. She has an unlucky glint in her eye when she says, "Wonderful! I'll just be a moment, then, why don't you show your friend around?"

"That I shall do," agrees Owain, and steers Gerome away. 

Staring absently at a shelf of dice, Gerome manages, "She's. Interesting."

"Again misfortune forsakes you," Owain murmurs, shaking his head. "Coulda struck a deal if Gaius were behind the counter. Or Morgan."

It's cute when Gerome thinks he's being discrete. At the mention of his crush's little brother, he picks a die from the shelved d20 jar at random, inspecting its sides. "He works here?"

"Indeed." 

So of course Gerome's feet lead them, perhaps not entirely due to his active will, to the tables under Akaneia's mural, where Morgan is still paging through the tome from earlier, right hand poised over a bulleted notebook. A pencil-case spills pens and highlighters and markers of varying colors, plus some stencils, a ruler, and a compass, beside his messenger bag, and his tongue pokes out in the same way that Lucina's always did when she was up to bat in freshman P.E.

"Just a sec," Morgan says with a grin, and Owain maintains his distance to allow his Dungeon Master to sufficiently tuck away any spoilers. In the interim Anna appears with Gerome's now-empty shoebox, a handful of petty cash, and a receipt.

"Wow," she says, "that's nostalgic!"

Morgan carefully positions a guidebook to cover a floor plan as he asks, "What is?"

Anna shoves Gerome's things into his arms before tugging Morgan's guidebook out of the way and tracing a finger along the lines of Morgan's map. "This," she says with a low whistle, now admiring Morgan's notes with bright eyes, "is almost as crazy organized as the Grandmaster's."

Together the cousins say, "Grandmaster?"

In answer Anna goes misty-eyed, turns cryptically to face the far wall. The object of her attention now is the mural that Owain has admired for years: it depicts fierce warriors, weapons at the ready, in what must be their final battle against the dark beast and its servant, both hovering in nightmarish swirls of purple and gray. Owain figured this was a fixture of Akaneia from its inception, given the generic features of its primary warrior; now, however, Anna calls for Nah to shift her chair, revealing a plaque at the mural's base: _The Shephards Face Grima,_ 1993\. _Feat. Krum Iris, Dick Fire, Sumz, Gray, Ti, and Daraen. DM: The Grandmaster._

He has to know everything.

* * *

"Cousin," Owain says the following afternoon, staring fiercely at the ceiling but seeing only the mural behind his eyes, "you realize it is our _duty_ to locate this—this great sage of legend."

It's the first Saturday of the month ergo the date of their family dinner, and Owain has holed up in Morgan's room, having claimed the loft for himself. Aforementioned sixteen-year-old sits hunched at the desk beneath him, absorbed in his cartography. 

The scratching pauses briefly enough for Morgan to swap utensils. "I've been thinking about it, too," he says, a little distracted. An eraser seems to have been procured. "I tried prodding Anna after you guys left but she wouldn't give me anything else to work with? I even used the face."

Oh. This is grave indeed. Morgan's _face_ is infamous among their clan for being undefeatably adorable. Once, Owain saw Severa's father give Morgan not one but _multiple_ cookies.

Anna is a dangerous woman indeed.

Owain pounds the wall with force enough for only a dramatic sound. His curiosity is an untamed beast. " _Nothing_?"

"Nope," Morgan confirms, and sighs at his map. "This is harder than I thought. Wonder if Raen could help when exam season's over…"

"Grima," Owain tries, frowning. _Who_ is this mysterious Grandmaster? And why, in all his years at Akaneia, has Owain never been privy to such lore? 

* * *

Fortune finds him in Gerome's absence. Gaius has returned from his vacation and is an easy bribe.

"What do I know about the mural?" he asks, still chewing on his licorice. His eyes trail passively over the paint, of which he has already admitted he cannot remember the artist. "Can't say I've seen any of 'em 'round in the past ten years…" But then he swallows, smirks. "If you wanna find 'em, you should really just take a long, hard look at Dick. The paladin."

Owain frowns but so does, tossing Gaius another bag of goodies in gratitude. There _is_ something familiar about the paladin, he realizes, as he traces the line of his jaw—the hair, that scowl, he has _definitely_ seen that look of disdain somewhere before—

— _Wait_.

* * *

"What the fuck are you nerds doing at my house," Severa says, unimpressed.

"Hi," Owain says, and as Morgan stares pointedly at Frederick's SUV in the driveway, "is your dad home."

"No," says Severa.

Worth a shot.

* * *

Later, Owain's father considers, says, "Fifty miles? In the heat? Wouldn't recommend it, bury it there before it melts! Lissa, more potatoes?"

As Owain's mother retreats to the kitchen to restock the table, Morgan nods, frantically taking notes. He tagged along in the interest of begging his uncle to answer only a few more questions, and Henry agreed but needed to eat first. Only, Chrom and Auncle Robin want Morgan home before dark, so here they are, discussing the gruesome details of their (apparently undead) forthcoming Dungeons & Dragons run over potatoes and steak.

"Okay, thanks, next question—"

Owain tunes out, chewing thoughtfully. Seeing Severa the other day all but confirmed his suspicions: her father, maybe even her _mother_ , were in the party for the Grandmaster's legendary campaign. And yet they're stuck at square one—Severa was firm in her uninvitation, he's not much for asking about her parents potentially being nerds, and to be completely honest Frederick sort of scares him more than she ever has.

And so—what to do? Already he's scanned the mural for another lead, already he's probed Gaius and everyone else at Akaneia and has landed no luck. Morgan's curiosity, in competition with his game prep, is but a fading candle to Owain's hungry hearth…

Lissa returns with restocked food and the dessert, which she announces was procured by their other guest this evening: Brady's mother Maribelle.

Maribelle smiles, carefully cutting the cream pie into generous slices even as Henry and Morgan continue their morbidity.

"God, Lissa," she says, rolling her eyes, "remember when Chrom was _obsessed_ with this stuff?"

"Oh my _god_ , yes," Owain's mother replies, rolling her eyes, "always going on and _on_ about how Crumbs did _this_ but then Robin made Daraen do _that_ so are they interested or—"

Wait.

 _"What_?"

* * *

"You want to ask Dad what?"

Lucina, bless her, has not a judgemental bone in her body; only an earnest desire to help and general confusion at all things nerdy, which up until now Owain assumed was inherited from her complete normie jock of a father. _And yet_.

"The _Grima Campaign_ ," Morgan insists, emphasizing the words he doesn't trust his sister to internalize. His intuition is correct; Lucina frowns, mouthing "Grima" and then "campaign?" 

"Or," Owain presses, "how your parents _met_."

"In high school," Lucina says, nose scrunching in further confusion, and she looks a bit like a rabbit about to sneeze. "What are you two up to?"

"Listen, you'll understand, just—have you ever heard Dad or Raen mention anyone called 'Krum' or 'Daraen' before?"

"No… what?"

"Oh," says Chrom, and the three of them jump. "It's—been a long time since I've heard that name."

* * *

It went like this:

Long, long ago, in the bygone year of 1992, there was a boy, there was a failed history class, and there was an absurdly cute tutor two years his junior.

What to do? Word was that Robin could scarcely be found outside of school except at the small hobby shop Akaneia, whereupon Chrom tread with his trusty companion Frederick, and managed to respond to "Are you here for the new campaign?" with an incredibly unconvincing, "Y-Yeah."

For some reason or another Robin took it. So were born Prince Krum Iris and his dashing friend Sir Dick Fire. Thereafter came the Ladies Ti and Sumz—Severa's mother, and Cynthia's, and Owain will never bribe Gaius again because _her father_ , too, joined as the rogue Grey. Their merry band met on their travels a mysterious NPC Daraen, with whom Krum decidedly fell in love, and so was forced to remain a member of their traveling party—before they were revealed to be the Shepherds' enemy the dragon deity Grima—but Krum didn't care—and a certain spell was procured, breathing new life to Daraen, and—

"Raen started their Master's and got too busy to DM, so Anna offered to take it up. But…" Chrom scratches the back of his neck, pinking slightly. "...Only Robin could ever play Daraen." 

"Oh," says Lucina.

"I see," says Owain.

Morgan, distressed, asks, "You forced Raen to play a DM PC _and_ now we call them that character's name?"

"Lucina liked it," Robin admits, and that is that.

* * *

Robin grins, rubbing their hands together. "I haven't done this in a while. I'm kind of nervous."

"No," Chrom says with clear affection, "you're not."

"I'm not," Robin agrees. "Shall we begin?"

Chrom, Lucina, Morgan, and Owain agree. And so with a flourish Robin turns, pointing two fingers at their son: "Mark," they say, clear and strong, "you wake up in a field, disorientated, recalling naught but your name and a voice…"


End file.
